Undefined
by caffinate-me
Summary: When Detective Rick Rodgers moved back to New York from LA to take a job at the NYPD's 12th Precinct, the one thing he expected less than being haunted by his predecessor's cases, was to be living with her ghost. AU
1. Undefined

Undefined

Summary: When Detective Rick Rodgers moved back to New York from LA to take a job at the NYPD 12th Precinct, the one thing he expected less than being haunted by his predecessor's cases, was to be living with her ghost.

Undefined (adj)- (1) without fixed limits; indefinite in form, extent, or application. (2) not given meaning or significance.

* * *

Chapter 1

The opening notes of Jingle Bell Rock filtered into the hall as Rick Rodgers slid the key into the lock of his brand new rental. The building super had looked as if he had grown a second head when Rick had told him that he wanted to move in on Christmas Eve. But he couldn't spend another minute, let alone another major holiday, in that city or that short term pre-furnished apartment. Lucky for him, one apartment had just come available- _again_, the super had drawled as he dabbed a yellow grey handkerchief on the shiny bald dome of his head. _Three tenants in the past year_ the man wheezed, waddling down the hall of the fifth floor, well-kept but faded carpet muffling his heavy gait.

It was a decent building, nothing fancy, but a far step up from the usual dwellings of New York City cops. In fact, most would consider it a steal. Five blocks away from the Twelfth Precinct, a 24-hour bodega and Chinese restaurant below, not to mention the liquor store on the corner. It was detective heaven.

The door creaked open and Rick stepped inside, flicking the switch to illuminate the space. Three doors down the neighbor's party rocked on, drunken laughter and chatter filtering through the thin apartment walls, the base from the speakers vibrating the floorboards with every thump of raucous holiday medley. Lack of soundproofing aside, it was perfect.

"Good luck, man," the super muttered from the hallway. "Number's on the fridge if you need me. Try not to until the new year."

The door slammed shut and Rick looked around, his battered leather duffle bag landing with a thump at his feet. The one bedroom apartment was fully furnished with kitchenware to spare. The purple couch and towering bookcases were not his usual tastes but they would work until he could afford a new place, or at least new furnishings. The plastic bag in his hand landed in a pile on the kitchen island, and his fingers tapped on the countertop as he circled the room. A monogrammed mug adorned with a swirling K sat in the Keurig on the counter and Rick picked it up, gently tossing it from palm to palm as he sauntered out of the kitchen and into the living room. A desk stood in the corner nestled under a shuttered window, topped with a lamp, a couple pens in a holder, and a layer of dust. Rows of empty bookshelves, the couch, a large oval coffee table filled the rest of the main room—he knocked on the top with one fist. Solid wood, not a cheap Swedish one. Nice.

He stepped into the bedroom and nodded at the queen bed in the middle of the space. More bookshelves lined the walls. The previous tenant really loved to read, he'd give them that. The claw foot tub in the bathroom had him nodding again. Definitely not bad for a sublease.

Rick padded back to the kitchen. He took a cautionary sniff at the mug and swirled the hem of his T-shirt around the inside, wiping away any dust before sliding it onto the counter next to the plastic bag and pulling out a bottle of scotch. Pouring two fingers into the porcelain he picked up the mug once again and walked it and the bottle over to couch. Plopping down onto the surprisingly comfortable cushion, he toed off his shoes, and stretched his six-foot-three frame, propping his heels on the coffee table. "All I Want for Christmas" warbled in from down the hall and Rick raised his cup in salute to the empty room.

"To a fresh start," he mused. "And to you, K, whoever you are. Thanks for the fine last minute living arrangements and cutlery."

He downed the scotch in a swift gulp and leaned forward to pour another serving into the mug. The scotch glugged out of the bottle as he counted in his head. One extra glug for good measure and he leaned back, his head resting on the top of the couch. "Welcome home, Ricky."

* * *

Rick groaned, one hand flying up to rub his eyes as his phone twittered and danced in his pocket. Pulling it out, he jammed his thumb against the top button, forcing the alarm silent for the next nine minutes. Morning sunlight streamed in through the window, beams dancing along the polished, dented, oak planks of the floor. Specks of dust swirled up, and Rick pushed himself up on the couch, feet swinging to the floor. The couch may be purple but at least it was comfortable.

Rick stretched his arms up over his head as he stood, hips moving from side to side, and bent forward and back, his vertebrae popping in satisfying succession. Comfortable or not, his forty-two-year-old joints could only stand so much. He reached down to gather his cup and the remainder of the bottle of scotch off the coffee table, a frown creasing his face when he found the surface empty.

He squinted around the apartment, blunt fingernails scratching mindlessly at the crease of his left butt cheek. The cup, washed, was sitting back in its place in the Keurig, K facing out. With a pit stop by the door to pick up his backpack, Rick wandered to the kitchen. The bottle of scotch lay in the sink, empty. He must have drank more than he thought, if he had blacked out doing the dishes. With a final sigh he trudged toward the bathroom. A shower and some coffee then it was off to the first day at his new job.

"New city, new year, new job. New you, Ricky." He muttered, pulling the lock box from his bag and placing it on top of the long dresser across from the foot of the bed.

Rick stripped off his shirt and pants, dropping them on his way to the shower, and turned the knob as far as it would go, stepping into the scalding spray. "You don't need anyone but you."

* * *

The 12th Precinct was a ghost town. A couple of voices could be heard muttering in between shrill rings of phones on the vacant desks, but the air of the over-sized room felt heavy even with the presence of the twinkling Christmas lights and row of miniature stockings on the wall. Glitter puff paint inscribed various names on the white cuffs.

"You must be Detective Rodgers." A thin woman in a stark suit and razor thin heels strode out of the corner office and across the vacant bullpen toward him, her ebony hair falling in waves to her shoulders. "Victoria Gates, Captain of the Twelfth, it's nice to finally meet you. Thank you so much for being able to start on such short notice, especially on the holiday. I know you probably wanted to be with your family."

"No problem." Rick replied, ignoring the rock that splashed in his stomach. "I actually don't have any family in the city, so I'm happy to help be here so others can be with theirs."

Gates gave a brief nod around an overly gracious smile, and Rick looked away from the pity in her eyes, gaze traveling from desk to desk instead. "Why don't you come into my office. HR left the paperwork for you to sign and I'll get you your badge and gun and then you can pick out your desk."

Twenty minutes later Rick walked back into the bullpen. The pad of his left thumb pressed into his right palm, massaging out the cramp. Based on the number of times he had signed and initialed, he wouldn't be surprised if the NYPD actually owned his soul by now. A couple more detectives sat hunched behind desks as Rick sauntered through the room, the weight of the gun and badge on his belt making him feel at home once again.

He spied an empty desk out of the corner of his eye and turned to edge his way down the narrow aisle. Right in the middle of the bullpen, a whiteboard at its side. Perfect.

"Not that one."

The snap of tenor startled him and Rick pivoted on the spot, his eyes locking with those of the stocky Hispanic detective perched at the desk an aisle over.

"Sorry," Rick apologized out of reflex, his gaze turning once again to scan the desk, coming up with nothing except a parade of elephants. "I didn't see a nameplate."

"Doesn't mean it's up for grabs."

Rick gave a curt nod, eyes falling once again to the porcelain figurine perched on the desk, between the black phone and blank computer screen. A thin layer of dust coated the whole surface. Some people weren't ready to be forgotten.

"Esposito!" Gates called from the doorway of her office and the detective lumbered to his feet. "Detective Rodgers will be working with you and Ryan until I can find him a permanent partner. Make sure he learns the ropes."

"Yes, Sir." Esposito nodded in reply, his arms crossing over his chest the moment Gates' door clicked shut. "Okay, new guy. There's an empty desk in the back. It's all yours. Welcome to the Twelfth. Don't screw up."

"Welcome indeed." Rick muttered as he plopped down in the wobbly chair in the dark back corner of the floor, and dusted off the rusty desk with the palm of his hand. Merry Freaking Christmas to you too."

* * *

A/N: Wow, it's been awhile, but hopefully it won't be too hard to get back into the writing game. This story is already about half written, so I hope it won't hit too many posting snags. I hope those of you reading enjoy the ride!- AS.


	2. Haunt

Haunt (v)- (1) to visit habitually or appear to frequently as a spirit or ghost. (2) to visit frequently; go to often. (3) to frequent the company of; be often with.

* * *

Chapter 2

The bored Pakistani man behind the counter of the 24 hour bodega gave him a pitying look as he scanned the cleaning supplies and the boxed microwaveable turkey dinner Rick hauled up to the counter. The radio on the back wall droned on, the BBC reporter's accented English chattered through as he conducted interviews on the latest happenings in the Middle East. The sound of a bomb exploding and people screaming echoed from the speaker but neither he nor the clerk paused as his total flashed in green on the screen.

"Thirty-six twenty-eight. Cash or credit?"

"Credit." Rick replied, his card already posed, waiting for the blink of blue lights on the card reader.

"Merry Christmas," the clerk stated as he handed over the wrinkled paper bag and receipt and Rick gave him a short nod. Another round of screams echoed from the radio and his heart sank a little in his chest as he turned toward the door, the idea of peace on earth and goodwill toward man inching a little further away with every report.

After a quick stop by the liquor store, Rick trudged down the blissfully quiet hall of his new apartment building. It had been a long day of paperwork and training videos and he had the kinks in his back and neck to prove it. A whisper of his ex-wife's voice echoed in his ear, prompting him once again to try yoga. "It would do amazing things for your joints, Ricky. You're not twenty anymore and it's starting to show." He shuddered even as his hand pressed a little too firmly into his gut, forcing it in.

He slid the key into the deadbolt and gave it a jerk, turning it hard. Nudging the door open with his hip once the bolt gave way, he stopped short as he crossed the threshold, brow furrowed. His duffle bag sat in the middle of the entry, lock box poking out of the half zipped zipper.

"I could have sworn I…" he stated to the empty room, before shaking his head and sidestepping the bag to heave his load onto the kitchen island. He took out the microwaveable dinner first and flipped it over in his hands, nose wrinkling as he tore open one side of the box and stabbed the thin plastic cover with a fork he pulled from the drawer. Popping the tray into the microwave for three minutes, he took pulled out all the cleaning supplies and laid them out on the counter for inspection.

He would battle the living room first. Not much to do there except some dusting and wiping down the windows. From there he would work his way through the bedroom before doing a deeper clean of the kitchen and bathroom. Then for the grand finale he would vacuum and mop the floors. The second sleeve of his button down was halfway rolled when the the microwave beeped, the scent of reheated turkey and gravy wafting through the space.

"Next year, I'll do dinner right," Rick mumbled. "Maybe Alexis will want to spend her break in New York. See the sights, skate in Rockefeller Center, watch the ball drop in Times Square."

Rick smiled to himself, and it almost felt genuine, as he wiped out a short glass with the hem of his shirt and poured two fingers of scotch to accompany his dinner. He didn't bother to sit to eat, instead he propped his elbows on the butcher block top of the kitchen island. The tinkling sound of his ringtone trilled from the pocket of his slacks and he pulled it out on a sigh. His thumb hesitated for a moment over the screen before tapping the little red button, rejecting the incoming call. He couldn't handle his mother today, even if it was Christmas.

Guilt swirled with the ever-present ache in his chest as he continued to stare at the screen. With one final glance he slid the phone back into his pocket. Maybe tomorrow he'd call her back. With the empty tray that had once held cardboard turkey, congealed stuffing and liquid cranberries in the trash, and his scotch in one hand and all-purpose spray and a roll of paper towels in the other, Rick set off across the room, spritzing and wiping every surface as he went. Once the space smelled of nothing but artificial lemons and bleach he switched out the bottle in favor of the ammonia laced window cleaner.

He hummed to himself as he worked methodically down the row of windows in the apartment. One draw for extending his lease was definitely the light. Once he got all the shutters open and the panes sparkling, it would be gorgeous. He reached the last window, the one over the desk, and placed his arsenal of cleaners on the freshly dusted surface. He gave an experimental tug on the shutters frowning when they refused to budge.

His fingers crept along the seams, searching for any latches, coming up empty until the pad of his index finger brushed over the rough surface of a nail head.

"Huh, that's weird." Rick muttered to himself as he stepped back to examine the window. It was one he could see from the street below. It didn't appear to be cracked. He held his hand up- no cold breeze touched his skin. "Not broken."

The edge of a yellow square of paper caught his attention, sticking out between the bottom of the shutter and the window sill. He plucked at it with his blunt nails, inching it out until he could grasp it.

FIND THEM

His brow furrowed at the bold black letters, but still he crumpled up the post-it with a flex of his fingers. Tossing it to the side, he turned back to the task at hand, reaching out to yank once again on the shutters: They wobbled but stayed firm in their place and Rick paced backward, determination rising.

He tore through the kitchen cabinets, the hall closet, any place that could possibly house a tool kit. He finally struck

gold in the form of a Tupperware tote nestled under the bathroom sink. Pulling out a hammer he stalked back over to the window, determined to find out what secrets it held.

The nails slid out with ease, the last one popping out just as a cold wind whipped through the apartment.

Maybe the window was broken after all.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Rick whirled around at the voice, hand flying to his hip for the gun that was currently residing on the kitchen counter. The woman stood in the middle of the living room, arms crossed over her thin frame, honey colored hair falling in waves past her shoulders, hazel eyes ablaze with furry.

"What am I doing? What are you doing in my apartment?" Rick countered, buying time as he devised a plan to make it across the room to his gun.

"Your apartment? No, this is my apartment and you're trespassing on private property."

"Look lady, I don't know who you think you are but I subleased this apartment fair and square. As for how you got in- I'm not sure but I'm definitely going to make sure the super changes the locks." Rick replied, frustration boiling in his gut as he inched closer to the kitchen counter, the bottle of scotch and behind it his service weapon, just out of reach.

"Listen, buster. I've lived here for 4 years and I'm a cop. I will arrest you for breaking and entering if you don't get out right now."

Rick paused, fingers wrapping around the bottle, and looked back at the woman, eyes tracing her from the top of her head to the tip of her black boots. She looked more like a model or lawyer than a cop. An unintentional laugh escaped his lips.

"You? A cop? I've been known to believe some pretty incredible things, but I'm sorry sweetheart, I do not believe that."

He unscrewed the cap of the bottle of scotch, lifted it to his lips preparing to take a much needed pull only to find his hand suddenly empty. An explosion of glass and liquid had his hands rising on reflex to protect his head and he turned to see glass and liquor dripping down the far wall of the apartment.

"Holy shit!" He exclaimed turning back only to find the living room empty.

Rick grabbed his gun off the counter, clutching it in both hands as he spun around in a circle, searching the room. Silence was all that greeted him. He hurried to the bedroom, leading with his gun as he swung through the doorway, only to find it empty as well.

He made his way through the apartment, methodically searching every room, closet, pantry, and cupboard. He finished with the front door, double checking the lock and peeking out the peephole before being satisfied that his crazed, impromptu guest had fled.

His knees creaked as he knelt down to sop up the spilt scotch with his used bath towel, stopping to suck the pad of his thumb when a thin sliver of glass slit open his skin. "Son of a bitch." He mumbled around the bleeding digit and threw the towel on the rest of the mess. He'd deal with it later.

The apartment had grown cold as night had fallen, and Rick cranked up the radiator, his gun still hanging loosely from one hand as he traipsed around the space. His space. He could go for a drink, but that meant a trip to the liquor store and another potential run in with that woman. For all he knew she was camped out at the end of the hall, lying in wait, and that was the last thing he needed. The mood he was in he was liable to shoot first and ask questions later.

Instead, he pulled his cellphone out of his pocket, and queried a search for delivery services near his little corner of Tribeca. He rested his hip against the edge of the kitchen island as he tapped his order into the sleek slate grey latest edition iPhone- an early Christmas/finally free of L.A. present to himself- with a single index finger.

Pocketing his phone once again, Rick slung the duffle over his shoulder and hefted it to the bedroom, deliberately placing his undershirts and boxers in the drawers, and hanging his suits in the closet. Slipping his feet from his shoes, he polished a scuff on the toe with the heel of his palm before placing them below the line of freshly occupied hangers. The tinny buzz of intercom sounded through the apartment, and he padded toward the front door, the joints of his toes crunching and cracking against the cold wood.

"Speedy Grub." A bored voice crackled through the speaker at Rick's greeting and he poked his thumb at the buzzer, jabbing it a couple times until it finally depressed.

The string bean of a delivery boy with an S for a spine loped up to the door, the plastic bags looped over his wrist. "Rodgers?"

"That's me."

"Here you go, man." The boy replied, bloodshot eyes looking around him, scanning the empty apartment. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas." Rick muttered back, his muscles giving an extra squeeze to his heart. He had almost managed to forget.

Digging a ten out of his pocket he sent the delivery boy loping back off down the hall and shut the door. His phone beckoned him from the counter and he picked it up, scrolling to the number he knew by heart, as he freed the new bottle of scotch from the bag.

The phone rang twice before his daughter's chirping voice greeted him, reciting the voicemail message he now knew word for word.

"Hey, honey," he started after the beep. "It's me, Dad. I just wanted to say Merry Christmas and that I'm safe here in New York. I'll shoot you a text with my address. There's plenty of room if you want to come for a break or even just for weekend. Don't worry about the cost. I'll figure it out. Love you. Hope you're having fun."

He threw the phone back on the counter with a thud and took a swig from the two fingers he had poured while he spoke. She would call him back eventually. Hopefully. Until then, his gaze wandered back to the window, the bent nails piled haphazard on the sill.

Glass in hand. He straightened his spine and marched over. His fingers wrapped around the wood, whipping the shutters open without a second thought.

"Oh my-"

What could only be described as a murder board stared back at him. Crime scene photos- graphic shots of a woman dead in an alley. Head shots of three other people, names and dates of death below each. Events listed on post it notes arranged in a timeline. The discarded post-it caught his attention and he picked it up, smoothing it out to place it in a free spot in the middle of the window.

FIND THEM.

"Find who? The people who did this?" He questioned the empty room, his detective's brain whirring into action.

"I told you to leave that alone!"

Rick turned on his heel, coming face to face with the same dark haired woman fuming, hands on hips, in the middle of his apartment.

Rick was ready this time, pulling his backup piece from his waistband at the small of his back. "Don't move." He yelled, voice steady. "I'm a cop and I will shoot you if you take a step."

"You're no cop," the woman bit back. "I know every cop in this neighborhood, and you are not one."

"You just happen to know every cop in this neighborhood? Right. I'm calling your bluff, honey. Now keep your hands where I can see them."

He ignored her glare as he stalked over to her, gun in one hand, the other reaching for his handcuffs. "You are under arrest for breaking and entering and threatening a police officer. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney- and seeing as you're most likely insane, I bet you can't- one will be appointed for you. Do you understand these rights as I have read them to you."

She broke her responding glare to roll her eyes at him. "You're going to be sorry once we get down to the twelfth."

"I'm sure I will," he replied, sarcasm dripping.

He stopped in front of her, taking a moment to assess his nemesis before slapping the handcuffs on her wrists. She was almost his height, a feat given his six foot three inch frame. Her green eyes, currently simmering with anger, had taken on a smokey tint, and her teeth sank into her to lower lip in a way that would be adorable if she weren't currently trespassing in his residence. Snapping open the cuffs, Rick reached out a hand to grab her wrist, his eyes locked with hers, meeting her challenging gaze head on, only to have his hand meet air. He blinked, brow furrowing and reached out again. This time he watched his hand go straight through hers, grabbing nothing but air.

"What the-" He questioned, looking back up at her only to find a shocked expression that mirrored his own feeling staring back at him. With an experimental finger he reached out again only to have it go straight through her shoulder.

"What are you doing? Stop that." The woman demanded, stepping back out of his reach, but the challenging set of her teeth in her lip morphed into a nervous gnaw.

"Holy shit" Rick whispered in awe, a small spark of glee he hadn't felt in a long time igniting in his chest. "You're a ghost."

* * *

A/N: Thank you all for the kind words and 'welcome backs'. I hope you enjoyed this latest update. xAS.


	3. Elysium

Elysium (n)- (1) the abode of the blessed after death. (2) a place or state of perfect happiness; paradise.

* * *

Chapter 3

"You are obviously crazy." The ghost replied, stumbling slightly as the heel of her black boots caught on the edge of the living room rug. She stumbled out of the potential fall gracefully enough. "I should go."

"Wait! Don't leave-" Rick called out, gun and handcuffs all but forgotten in his hands. He fumbled to place both on the coffee table, and within the second it took him to glance down at the wooden surface she was gone, leaving only the eerie silence around him.

He didn't sleep. By dawn he was slumped in the office chair staring at the murder board in the window. The electronic chime of his alarm chirped from his phone in his pocket and he pressed his fingers into the fabric finding the button to silence its cheerful tone before it grated on his last nerve. Rubbing the grit from his eyes with veed fingers he stifled a yawn and forced his focus back to the board. He had ten more minutes before he had to get in the shower. The coffee pot clicked on in the kitchen, filling the loft with the alluring aroma of New Orleans' most famous dark roast blend, and his senses perked in a response that would make Pavlov proud.

"This one." He pointed to the photograph in the middle as he muttered. "This was the important one. The only one with a crime scene."

His eyes scanned over the name again- Johanna Beckett- before focusing in on her face. Not his otherworldly visitor, but a possible resemblance. The nose, the eyes. Definitely the cheekbones. His phone began to dance, vibrating and chirping in his pocket once again, and he jolted in his seat before giving a resigned sigh and hefting himself up to trudge toward the shower. This current mystery would need to wait until after shift.

* * *

The homicide bullpen was buzzing with activity when Rick stepped off of the elevator. A duo of uniformed officers lumbered down the hall toward him, radios crackling. Detectives of every size, shape and color flitted around the large room, barking orders and cracking jokes. A portly man with a receding hairline and worried brow dabbed at a mustard stain on his tie as his partner rolled her eyes. "It's nine a.m., Jerry. No one needs hot dogs at nine a.m.."

Rick settled into his chair in the corner of the bullpen, back to the wall, and leaned back in his seat to watch the well choreographed- if chaotic- dance. It was the tango that came with a team that had been together a long time. The Captain had already informed him of that during his long distance interview weeks before. The homicide division of the twelfth precinct had one of the lowest turn-over, and highest closure rates of the city. Thanks in no small part to their lead team, the team he was now a part of. Rick caught sight of his two teammates exiting the break room, steaming coffee cups in hand, and tracked them across the bullpen to their desks. Esposito had the same gruff expression on his face he had worn the day before as he plopped down in his chair. The lines around his mouth and eyes told tale of a man who laughed and smiled, but Rick had yet to witness that level of mirth in person. The other man, Kevin Ryan, if Rick remembered correctly, hesitated as he neared their space. Rick's eyes narrowed as the younger detective took a deliberate detour behind Esposito and brushed his fingertips to the to the top of the vacant desk- an invisible motion to anyone not watching- before striding around to his seat.

Swiping the empty coffee mug off of his own desk, Rick pushed out of his chair and walked casually across the space toward the duo.

"Hi guys," he greeted once he was in earshot, and sidled up to the side of Esposito's desk, tossing the mug from palm to palm. "Rick Rogers. You're Kevin Ryan, right?" he stated, extending his palm to the sandy haired detective.

Ryan pushed out of his chair and leaned forward to clasp palms with an easy smile. "You must be the new guy, nice to meet you."

"I am." Rick responded, gut relaxing at the welcome. "It's nice to meet you too. I've heard great things about the team from Captain Gates. I've also been told I have big shoes to fill."

The sound of a pen slamming down on the desk behind him had Rick's head turning in time to see Esposito stalk toward the break room.

"Did I say something wrong?"

"No, uh, it's not you." Ryan replied, his eyes dragging away from Esposito's receding back, to meet his. "He's just still sensitive. He blames himself for what happened to-" His sentence died out, and he motioned toward the vacant desk in closing.

"I take it that that desk belonged to your old partner? I tried to sit there yesterday and Esposito bit my head off."

"Yeah, he won't let anyone near it. He even cleaned it out himself, except for the elephants. Neither of us could bring ourselves to move them."

Rick walked over to the desk, and reached out before he could stop himself, running a single pointer finger down the back of the first elephant in the parade. A fine layer of dust coated his skin and he looked back at the other detective as he rubbed his finger against the pad of his thumb. "If I may ask, how long has it been since-?"

"Almost a year, actually."

"A year?" The Super's words from two days prior wiggled into his memory and a shiver tingled at the top of his spine. "Can I ask what happened?"

Ryan's eyes flicked over to the break room. Satisfied that his partner was still occupied, Ryan took a half step closer to him. "She was shot in her apartment. Robbery insisted it was a home invasion gone wrong. Cap wouldn't let us near the case so that's that but Javier has never been satisfied with that answer. Frankly, neither have I, but Javi and Beckett, they were tight. Family."

"Beckett?" Rick spluttered, and attempted to cover the the exclamatory squeak with a cough.

Ryan gave him a hesitant nod. "Yeah, Kate Beckett. She was the best. Top of her class, youngest woman to make detective- ever. And she was taken down by some punk looking for a quick payday." He shook his head as he dropped back into his seat. "Pointless."

"Pointless," Rick echoed, his eyes trained on the elephants. And definitely not the whole story.

"Ryan, Esposito!" Gates' voice rang out from her office before Rick could think up a tactful way to question the other detective further. "You're up. Suspected murder suicide. Take Rodgers with you."

Ryan called back to the captain that they were on it, and Rick hurried back to his desk to grab his gear, his shoulder colliding with Esposito's on the way.

"Watch it, bro." The dark-haired detective grumbled, shooting him a sideways look, and Rick nodded back in apology. At least now he knew why Esposito hated him so much- he was the replacement for the woman he had loved. Talk about awkward.

* * *

Rick's feet dragged him over the threshold of his apartment thirteen hours later. The weariness in his bones was only eclipsed by the exhaustion of his mind. He was getting too old to go over 24 hours without sleep. All-nighters were a young man's game and here he was, the far side of forty.

The apartment felt stagnant in its silence and Rick bee-lined for the bedroom. His body screamed for the cloud-like bliss of the mattress he had yet to utilize, and he was in no mood to resist that call. He dropped his bag on one of the kitchen stools, toed off his shoes, and kicked them out of the way while he pulled his dark blue button down out of the waistband of his slacks. He had just started unbuttoning his shirt when he stepped into the bedroom, elbow flicking up to hit the light switch inside the doorway. Light flooded the room, and he blinked, eyes adjusting before he stopped short, yelping as the figure sitting hunched in the window came into focus.

"You need to stop doing that." The words came out as a wheeze, and his hand flexed, falling away from where it had grasped the gun on his hip. An automatic response from fifteen years on the force.

When he received no response, Rick took a hesitant step forward, feet barely lifting off the ground, hands lifted in surrender. "Hey?" He questioned again, the body not even twitching in reply.

Taking another step, he blinked and rubbed his eyes. He was well-past thirty-six hours without sleep. Hallucinations were possible. Hedging his bets, he placed his gun and cuffs on the dresser, and padded over to the window, stopping within arms reach of the woman. "Kate?"

"I'm dead, aren't I?"

After years of dealing with the families of victims, and those left behind, he would have expected a voice edged with raw brokenness to express that type of revelation. Instead he was met with a flat statement, all emotion hidden behind years of compartmentalization. Not that he was one to judge. His hand reached out of its own volition but his fingers passed straight through her shoulder, tingling with ethereal air.

"It appears that way."

Well, that… sucks."

Rick huffed out a single chuckle and Kate turned around, piercing him with a critical gaze. "But, at least you're still here. Kind of."

"Yes, instead of the gift of eternal happiness exploring the land of Elysia, I'm stuck here in my old apartment. With you. Oh, happy day."

"Hey! You could have a worse roommate." Rick shot back. It was oddly offensive being criticized by a ghost.

"We'll see about that." Kate rose from the bench, and crossed her arms over her chest as she stood toe to toe with him, assessing. "And you're a detective at the 12th?"

"Um yeah, just started. Homicide." He bit his tongue before stumbling on the fact that he was her replacement.

"Uh huh." She walked around him, tongue clucking against the roof of her mouth, and he automatically straightened, sucking in the slight pudge that had started to form around his middle. At least according to his ex wife.

"Are you sizing me up?"

"You got a problem with that?"

"No, no. Though I did have a dream once about being felt up by a ghost." Kate's eyes rolled toward the ceiling and Rick felt an involuntary smile tugging at the corners of his mouth for the first time in a long time. "Too much information for this stage of the haunter- hauntee relationship?"

"Just don't get any ideas." Kate shot back and came face to face with him, having completed her third round. "So, what's your name? Why'd you leave the beach life to come back to this smog filled city?"

"Excuse me?"

"You are living in my apartment, taking over my job-" His jaw fell open in surprise, winning him a second eye roll. "Oh, please. I'm a detective. It's not hard to connect the dots- Essentially taking over my life. I deserve to know your name."

"Rick Rodgers. And how do you know I haven't been in New York all along? You couldn't possibly know all the cops in all the burrows."

"If you were already living in the city, you wouldn't need to sublease an apartment. Also, you're right, I don't know _all _the cops in the city, but I do know every detective who would be good enough to take over my job. Plus, your tan tells me that you've been living somewhere with regular sun, at least recently. And the kicker—" She summed up, taking a step toward him, angling her body so that she was snuggly encroaching on his personal space, her lips inches from his ear. "There's an airline tag on your bag from LAX."

"Oh, haha." He retorted, shifting to relieve the tension built up in his body. "You're funny, you know that?"

The smug smile tilting her lips fell away and Kate turned back to look out the window, the shroud of melancholy that had been enveloping the room when he entered falling back into place.

'Kate."

"Just don't screw up," She replied, the words barely above a whisper, and then she was gone.


	4. Limbo

Limbo (n)- (1) a place or state of oblivion to which persons or things are regarded as being relegated when cast aside, forgotten, past, or out of date.  
(2) an intermediate, transitional, or midway state or place. (3) a place or state of imprisonment or confinement.

* * *

Chapter 4

"Boo."

Rick's yelp echoed over the sound of the running water, a decibel higher than he would ever admit. He whipped the shower curtain to the side with one hand, the other holding the curtain closed to cover his lower half and glared at the woman perched on the toilet studying her nails. "Do you mind?"

"Do you? You've been warbling in the shower for the past twenty minutes. If I have to hear one more Rick Rodgers cover of a Broadway hit I may go insane. Where did you learn so many show tunes anyway?"

The rest of the week had passed in relative silence. Two homicide cases opened and closed, and no contact from the great beyond. Until now.

"Do you haunt all the tenants like this? No wonder this apartment was so cheap."

"I wouldn't say all." Kate drew out the last word. "How long have I been… well, you know?"

Rick pasted on his most innocent look, which, in what was becoming a pattern, was answered with an eye roll.

"Oh, come on. You're a detective. Are you seriously asking me to believe you haven't gone snooping around to find out when I died?"

"Okay, fine. It's been almost a year. Now can the rest of your questions wait until I'm not naked and-" he paused to wipe a stream of sudsing water out of his eyes. "Covered in shampoo?"

"Fine. I'll be kind to your delicate sensibilities and wait until you're making coffee."

"Thank you." Rick replied but she was already gone. "So trippy."

* * *

"God, I've missed that smell."

Rick turned from the coffee maker, steaming mug in hand, to find Kate perched on one of the barstools on the far side of the kitchen island. "So, answer me this- if you didn't know you were a ghost how did you manage to haunt the two tenants who lived here before me?"

He was answered with a shrug, her lips turning down in a frown. "I don't know. It's like a dream. The memories are coming back the more I'm here."

"And you're only here? Nowhere else?"

"I guess…" Her brow furrowed in concentration. "I haven't really tried to be anywhere else. I can feel my dad sometimes. My friends. But it's like they're just out of reach. Like they're the ghosts. I can only see, only hear you- and the others who lived here."

"I feel special."

Rick glanced up from his mug, expecting to be met by another eye roll, only to find Kate staring at a spot on the wall behind him. "Do you know what happened."

"Not specifically, no. Ryan just told me that you were shot here, in a robbery." Rick replied, voice low as he placed his coffee on the countertop. "You don't remember?"

Kate hummed, a pensive sound. "No, I don't. It's just- blank. Do you think you can find out?"

"I- sure," he answered, unwilling to deny her, or his own curiosity.

A comfortable silence fell between them as Rick puttered around the kitchen, throwing together breakfast. He was adding a dash of pepper to his fried eggs when he felt her peering over his shoulder. "Do you mind?"

"No, I really don't. It's kind of fun to watch someone actually cook in this kitchen." She shot back, a sly smile playing on her lips.

"I take it you weren't the cooking type?" He questioned.

She shrugged and wandered back to her stool. "I liked to cook, and I was pretty good at it, but I was always at the precinct, or… Plus, it was mostly just me and I always found it pointless to spend so much time cooking just for me. So, I mostly got take out."

"No boyfriend?" Rick shot over his shoulder as he slid his eggs, slick with coconut oil onto his plate with two pieces of rye toast. Pausing, he considered for a moment? "Girlfriend?"

Kate let out a light chuckle. "Nah, I mean I had a guy when all this happened but he was a surgeon, and we were both workaholics, so we just got together when we could."

Rick spun around, resting back against the counter, plate on one hand, as he stabbed the corner of his toast into the yolk of one egg with the other. "So you and Esposito…?"

His eyebrow quirked up in question and her expression melted from pensive to complete shock. "Me and Espo? Javi? Javier Esposito? No! No no no. No. He's like… Eww. Just no."

"So you guys never?" He needled, his mirth simmering just below the surface if his schooled expression. "Because he definitely seems to be taking your death hard."

"No, well I mean there was that one time we got _really_ drunk and- but he passed out before anything happened." One hand gestured in the air between them. "That was years ago. He is- was- one of my best friends. How are they doing? Him, Ryan? Are they still working together?"

"Yeah, they are. They're good, as far as I can tell. They miss you. Not too fond of me taking your spot on the team, I can tell you that for sure."

A sad smile graced her lips. "I miss them too. Bring them donuts. Boston creme for Ryan and double chocolate with sprinkles for Espo."

"Sprinkles? Seriously? You're trying to get me beaten up, aren't you."

The small quirk of her lips lifted into a full grin, pearly teeth glistening as she laughed. A melodious sound that he was missing the second it stopped. "Scouts honor. Sprinkles."

"Okay, then. Sprinkles."

* * *

Rick schooled his features as the box of donuts glided off of his palm onto Esposito's desk, and the squad perked up with the smell of sweet fried dough.

Esposito examined the box critically out of the corner of his eye, pen tapping on the case file in front of him.

"Picked up breakfast," Rick clarified gesturing, and the other detective huffed, turning back to his report even as Ryan craned his neck over the seam between their desks. "Figured we should send 2012 out with a sugar rush."

"I won't object to that logic. I'm ready to kiss 2012 goodbye. Got any Boston cremes in there?" Ryan inquired as he reached out to peel back the lid.

"I think they added one or two," Rick replied, hands digging into his pockets as he rocked back on his heels. "I got an assortment but there should be. Also some classics, cinnamon, powdered sugar, blueberry, jelly, and chocolate sprinkles for anyone feeling whimsical." He gave a casual look over at Esposito to find the pencil had stilled on the page, the other detective considering the flat white box out of the corner of his eye.

"You hear that Jav, Rick got your favorite. Sprinkles." Ryan teased before shoving half of a creme filled donut into his mouth.

"Double chocolate?" Esposito grunted glaring at his partner across the desk, and Rick nodded in reply holding the box out to him.

"Is there any other type worth getting?"

Esposito's hand shot out, snagging a chocolate pastry dotted with red, green, and white sprinkles and Rick sent a silent thank you to the spirit inhabiting his apartment when the other detective mumbled out a grudging thanks.

"So, guys, since it's a quiet morning, I was hoping to catch up on some of your old cases. You know, learn the dynamic of the team and the city. Would you mind directing me to the archives?" Rick gave the other two men an innocent smile and they both gestured vaguely to the elevator as they mumbled out directions to the basement around mouths full of dough. "Thanks! Let me know if we get a case." He called back before grabbing a jelly donut for himself and setting out on his quest. It would be a lot easier to explain off having Kate Beckett's case file if he could chalk it up to broad range research.

The bored detective manning the desk in the archives hefted himself out of his chair and waddled down the hall, wheezing as he spoke, directing Rick to the correct section in the back of the warehouse. "All of homicide's cases are here. Alphabetical order by the lead detective's name. Beckett's cases will probably be on the left."

He hefted his belted pants up over his beer belly and turned back toward his desk. "If you need help just holler."

"Thanks," Rick replied, a second too late- already distracted by the rows of boxes surrounding him.

His fingers trailed along the third shelf as he wandered down the length of the aisle until he reached the B's. A low whistle passed his lips when he finally reached her name. No wonder she was considered one of the best, just the number of closed cases alone was impressive, and his fingers began to itch with the anticipation of getting to read through some of the files. He passed the shelves and stopped at the file cabinets at the end of the row. Pulling open the appropriate drawer, he let his fingers dance along the tabs as his eyes scanned the labels.

"Shut the front door! The Triple Killer?" His voice squeaked with excitement, and he quickly scanned his surroundings to make sure he was still around. Only silence met him, and he pulled the file out, slipping it under his elbow before digging back in for a couple more files. He pulled out two more random cases and was just securing them under his arm when his phone began to dance in his pocket.

"Damn," he sighed as he pulled it out, spotting Ryan's number. Juggling the files, he punched the little green circle on the screen and pressed the phone to his ear. "Rodgers."

"Caught one." Ryan announced without preamble. "Meet you at the car in five."

"Got it." Rick replied before punching the red end button and sliding the phone back into his pocket. He glanced over at the stacks to the robbery section and sighed. Curiosity would just have to wait.

* * *

"Nah, man, you must be trippin'. There is no way we're going anywhere near Times Square tonight." Esposito looked at his partner like the other man was insane, and Rick watched in fascination as his partners bickered in the front seat of their sedan. "If you and Jenny want to risk your lives and sanity on the off chance you can get within eye shot of the action that is your call, but Breanna and I will be enjoying a nice _intimate _evening in."

"Who the heck is Breanna? I thought your girlfriend's name was Angela?" Ryan shot back, confusion coating his voice.

"Nah, we were nothing serious." Esposito shrugged off the question from the driver's seat.

"And this Breanna is?"

"Hell yeah, seriously banging."

"Banging? Really? How old are you?"

"Old enough that I don't need you being my Momma. Bree and I are having fun. Ain't nothing wrong with that. Just because you and Jenny are practically an old married couple."

"We're not an old married couple."

"Oh please, you check in at least five times a day and you all always leave parties by nine so you can go to bed at a reasonable hour."

"There are multiple studies lauding the health benefits of a full night of sleep. There is no shame in taking good care of your body." Ryan shot back and Rick saw Esposito's eyes roll in the rear view mirror. "What about Lanie? You guys were hitting it off for a while."

"You know what happened with Lanie." Esposito replied, his voice low. "She and Beckett were tight, she could barely look at me after, let alone want anything to do with me."

"Yeah, I know, but it's been a year and…"

"And what? Just drop it." Esposito spun the wheel with a yank, his foot slamming the break, and the sedan jolted to a stop, two wheels on the sidewalk just behind a sea of blue and red flashing lights. He was out of the car in an instant, throwing his parting words over his shoulder before slamming the door. "We're here."

Ryan pushed open his door, hopping out as Rick took a second in the back seat, swallowing a deep breath in an attempt to force his stomach out of his throat.

The trio approached the dead body in the alley in tense silence. Esposito's back hunched, his hands shoved in the front pockets of his pants. A head of dark hair bent over the body. She looked up as they approached and something Rick couldn't define flickered in her eyes.

"Dr. Parish," Esposito greeted with a stony nod, and Rick offered the woman a small smile and nod as he awaited introduction.

Ryan glanced between Esposito and the woman, rocking back on his heels before stepping forward.

"Rodgers, this is Dr. Parrish, the best medical examiner in the Burrough. Lanie this is Detective Rick Rodgers our new… partner."

Rick swallowed down his stomach for the second time in as many minutes and held out his hand with what he hoped was a gracious smile.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Parish."

Lanie, one of Kate's best friends, from what he had gathered, offered a sad smile of her own before stripping off one of her blue latex gloves and taking his hand.

"It's nice to meet you too, detective."

A throat cleared beside them and the group turned to where Esposito was standing, arms crossed, over the body of a young woman with wax-white skin and glazed eyes.

"Anyone want to tell us what we've got?"

Lanie replied with a small huff but turned to the other detective, snapping her glove back on.

"Female, early to mid twenties. Based on clothing, possessions, and time of death I'd assume she was a prostitute."

Rick just stared at the girl as the medical examiner continued, her words lost in a deafening hum- a sea of pumpkin orange hair, just like his daughter's haloed around her head, the way her bony knees stuck out from the bottom off of a microscopic pleather skirt. He needed to talk to Alexis.

* * *

The trio trudged out of the rundown apartment building, shoes crunching on broken glass on the sidewalk. The girl's- Sara Rhymes'- father's voice could still be heard yelling from their third story window.

Three car doors slammed shut and silence surrounded them, shielding them momentarily from the outside world. The engine coughed to life when Esposito turned the key and Rick had just settled in the backseat, seat belt fastened, when Ryan's phone vibrated, belting the lyrics to an Adele song through the small space.

"Really Bro?" Esposito questioned as Rick smothered a grin.

"What? I like her jazzy quality." Ryan retorted, lifting the phone to his ear. "Ryan… yeah, this is he. Again? Okay, we'll be there in ten. Just keep him there."

Esposito sighed, sagging back into his seat. "Again? It's barely noon, and it's the third time since Christmas."

Rick say forward in his seat, elbows propped on his knees, questions posed on the tip of his tongue.

"Again." Ryan confirmed. "It's a bad time of year."

"Yeah, I know." Espo glanced up at him through the rear view mirror. "We don't have time to drop him off at the precinct."

"It's fine," Ryan replied, turning in his seat to examine Rick with squinting eyes. "He'll be cool."

"Okay, fine. Let's get this over with." Esposito squared his shoulders, shifted the car into drive and pulled seamlessly into the flow of New York traffic.

"Where are we going?"

"Gotta pick up a friend." Ryan offered in explanation, but the elephant that had taken up residence in the seat next to him told Rick there was a lot more to the story.

Esposito pulled the car to the curb next to the dark door of an Irish pub boasting the name O'Malley's, home of New York's best corned beef sandwich. Based on the peeling paint and stained windows Rick doubted that claim.

"Be back in a minute." Ryan announced, sliding out of the passenger seat and back into the icy December afternoon.

Esposito's head flopped back on the headrest, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, and Rick resisted the urge to ask again what they were doing at a dive bar in the middle of the afternoon instead of finding Sara's killer. Ryan reappeared a moment later, an older man stumbling along supported by his arm, and more questions peppered Rick's mind even as some were answered.

"Javier." The man greeted with a watery grin when Ryan deposited him into the vacant seat on the bench beside Rick, and the man reached forward to clasp Esposito's shoulder even as the Hispanic detective tensed.

"Hi Jim." Esposito responded on a tired sigh and pulled the car back out into traffic. "Let's get you home."

The older man's tired eyes fell to his hands, and he heaved out a sigh as his glassy gaze wandered over to where Rick was sitting.

"I don't know you." The man proclaimed after a long moment of scrutinizing him to the point where Rick had to resist the urge to squirm in his seat.

"No, I don't believe we've had the pleasure. Rick Rodgers. Detective."

Jim let out a disgruntled harumph, blunt nails scratching at the salt and pepper scruff that had begun to gather on his jawline.

"Detective, huh? That means you're Katie's replacement."

"If you mean Detective Beckett then yes, I was hired to, um, fill her position on the team."

"Bastard." The man mumbled under his breath and Rick stared at the old drunk with wide eyes as the man leaned forward to clasp Esposito on the shoulder. "I want to go see my daughter."

"I know, Jim, but that's probably not the best idea right now."

"I want to see her!" The man's voice rose to a bellow as he straightened in his seat, jaw quivering.

"We'll go see her in the morning. Does that work? We both know she wouldn't like to see you like this, Jim." Esposito conceded in a tone softer than Rick would have thought possible from the grumpy detective.

"Tomorrow." Jim settled back into his seat, moisture pooling in his eyes.

"Tomorrow," Esposito confirmed, nodding. "First thing in the morning before shift. We'll pick you up."

The sedan pulled to a halt, double parked in front of a quaint row of brownstones, and Rick lifted an eyebrow in surprise as he watched Esposito get out and haul their fare out of the backseat and up the steps to one of the doors.

"That old drunk lives here?" He voiced his surprise to Ryan as he watched them go.

Ryan sighed, his eyes never moving from where he was watching the pair out the passenger side window.

"Show some respect. That drunk is Detective Beckett's father."

* * *

A/N: Thank you to all of you who are reading this little story. I love hearing your thoughts and your theories. Xx


	5. Spirit

Spirit (n)- (1) the principle of conscious life; the vital principle in humans, animating the body or mediating between body and soul. (2) the incorporeal part of humans. (3) conscious, incorporeal being.

* * *

Chapter 5

Rick slumped back against the front door of his apartment, plastic bag dangling from the hook of his left index finger, exhaustion throbbing from his temples to the bunch of muscles across the top of his back.

"Damn. I thought I was supposed to be the dead one."

Rick cracked open one eye to find the subject of his thoughts reclined on the couch, feet propped on the coffee table.

"Har har. Glad to know I don't look any better than I feel. So, tell me," he continued, shifting the topic from something other than his unwitting roommate's mortality- or lack of it, "how it is that you can't pick up or touch anything but you can sit?"

Kate peered around her sides, considering her forearm propped on the armrest, her feet on the table.

"I have no idea."

"Seriously?"

"What? It's not like they actually hand out _Guides for the Recently Deceased_ when we croak," Kate quipped back. "So, how was your day? Did the donuts work?"

"You know, you're pretty cavalier about being dead."

"Well, there's not exactly anything I can do about it. But it is really boring. Can't read any books, and for the first time I'm regretting not having a television in this apartment. So, since you're the only person on this planet I can actually haunt, I ask again, how was your day?"

"Haunt or annoy?"

"The two aren't mutually exclusive." Kate shot back flashing him a smile.

Rick huffed out a sigh, and levered himself off of the door, trudging to the kitchen counter. The bag landed on the counter with a clank, and his fist closed around the neck of the bottle of scotch, before letting go, leaving the bottle in the bag and crossing the kitchen to the refrigerator for a bottle of water instead.

"The donuts were a good suggestion, thank you for that. I only received five death glares today."

"Progress," Kate agreed, rising from the couch to join him at the island. "Did you get the file?"

Rick shook his head, giving her an apologetic smile. "No, a body dropped before I was able to _Mission: Impossible _my way over to the robbery files."

Kate frowned.

"It's a robbery case? Not homicide?"

Rick shrugged.

"That's what Ryan told me. Gates didn't want your people looking into it, figured they'd be too close, so they left it to robbery."

The wrinkle between Kate's eyebrows deepened and she wandered over to stare out the living room window, arms folded over her chest.

"What?"

"Nothing," she mumbled with a small shake of her head. "So tell me about your new case? Who's dead?"

Rick pulled a stack of take out menus from their designated drawer and began to flip through as he ran through the details of the case, the limited details they had anyway. He settled on a random Thai restaurant only to catch Kate shaking her head, and pointing at a different menu.

"That one," she indicated. "Trust me."

With a shrug he switched out the pamphlets. "

Any suggestions on what to order?" he asked, only half in jest.

"One number six, a number four, an order of crab rangoons, spring rolls, and extra dipping sauce. Oh, and two number eights."

Rick's eyebrow shot toward his hairline. "Is that all?"

"I have to live vicariously, okay?"

* * *

Rick flipped his phone around in his hand, thumb pressing the button on the side for the tenth time in as many minutes to check the time. 11:15.

"Call her."

"What?" He asked, startled out of his thoughts by Kate's comment. He had taken over her spot on the couch when the take out had arrived, the sea of half eaten Thai and Pan Asian dishes spread out on the coffee table in front of him. It was damn good food.

"Call her. Whoever has you checking your phone every thirty seconds. It's New Year's after all. Start 2013 off on the right foot, even if that means just having a clear conscience."

Rick considered his phone once again, debating. But if he couldn't tell a ghost his problems, who could he tell?

"It's not just some woman, it's my daughter. And my mother." He paused examining the backs of his hands as he waited for the ensuing smart retort, eyes raising when it never came. Instead he found her watching him, head quirked to one side from her new seat in the rock hard armchair that had obviously only been purchased either as a statement piece, or to keep unwelcome company to a minimum.

"How old is your daughter?" The question didn't surprise him, at least not as much as the soft tone of her voice.

"Alexis. She's nineteen. And just started at Stanford." His lips broke into a proud smile, just as they had every time he had talked about the subject for the past year.

Kate hummed. "I went to Stanford."

"Really?"

"Yeah, just for a year though, then I moved back to the city. Is that why you moved back?"

"Partially. I just couldn't stay in L.A. any longer. Meredith- her mother- we were never really meant to be together, let alone married, and in the end it was only for Alexis that we stayed together. With her off at college, we decided it was time for us to go our separate ways. So, Meredith moved in with her director friend- same one I caught her having an affair with when Alexis was four- and I decided it was time to come home. What better place to start over?"

Kate considered him from where she sat facing him on the other end of the couch, her head propped on one palm, elbow resting on the top of the cushion. "Call her. Your daughter. Just because she doesn't live with you anymore, doesn't mean she doesn't need you. You're her dad."

"What about you and your father? Were you close?"

Kate sighed.

"Yes and no. My mom and I were really close. When she died, both my dad and I were devastated. I took it hard, but my dad… he took it really hard. Started drinking. I moved back from California to help take care of him. It took about five years, and a pretty significant accident but he got sober again. I got my dad back. I just hope he's still doing okay after, well…" she gestured to herself, and a lump formed in Rick's throat, blocking any words. "Speaking from the perspective of a daughter, don't let Alexis lose you too."

Rick nodded, thumb navigating his contacts, even as his brain whirled in overdrive.

"I'll leave you alone for that call," Kate added, stretching as she rose from the couch. "Happy New Year, Rick."

"Happy New Year," Rick replied, glancing up from his phone to find the room was already empty. "She really needs to stop doing that."

Rick padded to the kitchen and pulled the bottle of scotch out of the bag, pouring two fingers into a glass while the phone rang in his ear. The tone flipped to Alexis's voicemail, and he lifted the glass to his lips to take a pull as he waited for the beep.

"Hey, pumpkin, it's me again. I figure you're probably out doing something fun for the night, but I just wanted to call and say hi and that I was thinking about you. Happy New Year, Sweetheart."

Throwing the phone down on the counter, he threw back the rest of the two fingers before pouring two more.

* * *

Rick hefted the oversized cardboard box through the doorway of the apartment with a grunt the next evening. His new partners had been quiet all day, trading their normal level of banter and gallows humor for awkward, heavy silence- a side effect of their presumed trip with Jim Beckett to visit Kate's grave. A trip to which, he, of course, hadn't been invited. But despite the stilted silence of the day, they had still found Sarah Rhymes' killer, and that made one more victim spoken for.

His back connected with the door frame with a dull thud as he stumbled over the threshold and the grunt turned into a pained groan.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Bought this for you," Rick explained panting, and he turned so the front of the box faced the ghost standing in the entry of the apartment.

"A TV?" Kate questioned, and for half a second his heart sank at the incredulous look on her face before it morphed into a faint, disbelieving smile. "You bought me a TV?"

"You said you were bored," Rick waved off her unspoken thanks with a verbal shrug and continued on his path to the coffee table. "I know you can't change the channel, but I figured I can put it on whatever channel of your choosing before I leave for work."

"That's very… sweet, Rick. Thank you."

"No, thanks necessary, who knows what sort of ghostly hijinx i could fall victim to if you get too antsy around here alone. So, it's self preservation really. Besides, baseball season is about to start."

Kate plopped down on the sofa, with more grace than Rick ever thought possible for such a move, and set back watching as he fiddled with the cords and the base, huffing out a small growl when a screw went flying across the room.

"The stand is on backward." Beckett commented from her spot on the couch, failing miserably at keeping the laughter out of her voice, and Rick shot a glare over his shoulder as he bent over to retrieve the runaway hardware.

"Ah ha!" He declared three minutes later when the base was finally attached and the small flatscreen sat perched on a cleared shelf across from the couch. He picked up the remote and strode over to the couch to sit next to her, chest puffed in a show of pride that had her head shaking.

"So, what do you want to watch?" Kate asked, settling deeper into the cushions.

"I believe there is some Yankees pre-season coverage on one of the ESPNs." Rick replied, jaw falling open at her responding wince. "Katherine Beckett, I never. You're a Mets fan?" At her nod, teeth sinking into her lower lip, he continued. "You think you know your haunter, but no, they have to go and throw a curveball like being a Mets fan. I thought you were a good ghost, but now I see the truth, you're an evil spirit doomed to be trapped in limbo for all eternity."

"Are you finished?"

"Be gone, demon spawn!" Her eyes rolled up toward the ceiling and Rick watched her with a grin. "Now I'm done. So, no Yankees for the poltergeist in the room. Any suggestions?"

"Just scroll, funny boy."

"That's funny man to you."

His finger clicked the channel down button, and he relaxed back into the cushions as the guide scrolled on the screen in front of them. It was an oddly domestic night. It had been years since he had relaxed like this in his own home without the tension of his marriage settled heavy around him.

"Ooh _Hard Boiled_," Kate exclaimed next to him and he broke out of his reverie, peering over at her with a skeptical eye.

"You like John Woo?"

"The bloodier the better."

A smile flashed across his face and he selected the movie before tossing the remote onto the coffee table next to his feet.

"Why Ghost Beckett there may be redemptive hope for you yet."

"Why Detective Rogers, I was just thinking the same about you."

Rick chuckled as he settled in to let himself get entranced in the movie. If he pretended hard enough, he could almost feel the warmth radiating from her arm where it was pressed into the cushion next to his, and for the first time in a long time, fifteen years to be exact, his fingers tingled to thread through those of the woman seated next to him.

"How's Alexis?"

"Hmm?"

"Your call yesterday? That's your daughter's name right? Alexis?"

"Yeah. Yes, Alexis. I, uh, don't know. She didn't answer."

"Oh, well just keep trying. She will."

It was a small gesture, a basic platitude but the certainty in her voice made him smile.

"How can you be so sure?"

She only shrugged and silence fell between them as the movie continued to play, gun fire erupting on screen.

"My dad is a huge Mets fan, used to take me to any game he could when I was a kid. Even as a grumbling rebellious teenager, it was our thing. Even after… when we were both drifting and I knew he was sneaking a flask in with him, I'd go and sit next to him, swallow my anger for a couple of hours and cheer for the Mets.

"Daughters love their fathers. Take it from someone who knows. No matter what else is going on- if she's mad, if she's drifting, or hurt by your leaving, she still loves you. And she will call. Just don't give up."

His hand reached out on instinct, inching over like it was his first date with a high school sweetheart, only to encounter cold, vacant space as his fingers passed straight through hers and landed on the cushion. He looked over startled to find her staring down at their hands with a wistful longing in her eyes.

"Sorry." He stuttered, pulling his hand away as if scalded.

"Don't be," she replied. Her hand landed over his, drifting down until it disappeared inside his resting on the cushion.

"Where do you go when you're not here?"

"I don't know," she shrugged. "It's just dark. Sometimes I can hear people talking, Ryan, Espo, Lanie, my dad. Other voices I don't recognize. But it's just chatter, no real words. Other times it's silent. But then I'm drawn back here."

"Any idea why here?"

She shrugs again.

"Because this is where I died? I don't know. Maybe I'm just meant to be here."

Her eyes connect with his and he could feel a tingle shoot through his palm.

_Here with you._

* * *

A/N: Thank you all for all your kind love for this story. Hope you continue to enjoy! Thanks as always to Dia and KC for their rockstar editing and flails.


	6. Abberation

Aberration (n)- (1) the act of departing from the right, normal, or usual course. (2) apparent displacement of a heavenly body, owing to the motion of the earth in its orbit.

Chapter 6

He shifted from foot to foot, anxiety fluttering in his chest, the coffee burning his palms through the thin cardboard walls of the go cups. This was a bad idea. Probably one of the worst he'd had, and he'd set the bar high for comparison. But after a week of debating he's here. With one final steadying breath, he shifts the coffees around in his arms, lifts a fist and knocks.

After the third knock, there's shuffling on the other side of the door, a frenzy of muttered curses as something crashes to the floor. Finally, the door opens and a pair of bleary eyes peer out at him from the chained crack between the hall and the coveted apartment. "Can I help you?"

"Mr. Beckett? You may not remember me, we met a few days ago." Rick begins as he leans forward to look the older man in the eye.

Jim Beckett responds with a shake of his head, one hand scrubbing at his salt and pepper hair which is a few weeks overdue for a cut.

"My name is Rick Rogers," Rick continues. "I'm a detective at the 12th. I work with Detectives Ryan and Esposito."

Recognition dawns in Jim's eyes and he heaves out a sigh as he shuffles backward to close the door. The chain scratches along the track and when the door reopens Rick is face to face with a sober and wary version of the man he had met the week before. "What can I do for you, Detective Rogers?"

Rick holds out the second coffee in his hands with a smile and the older Beckett accepts it, taking a small sip as he backs away from the door gesturing for him to come in. "I'm sorry its so early, but I wanted to stop by on my way into work and see how you're doing."

"You're here to check up on me?" Jim huffs out a deprecating laugh and shuffles over to small galley kitchen, the bottom of his open terrycloth robe fluttering around faded pajama pants.

"No disrespect intended, sir," Rick continues, watching with a jaundiced eye as Jim removes the top of the go cup and tips an open bottle of scotch- the label the same as his own favorite- into the black coffee. "I just know that Ryan and Esposito made a promise to look out for you after what happened to Detective Beckett, and since I'm part of the team now, I wanted to step up and see if there was anything I could do as well."

His hand fidgeted at his side, fingers clenching and unclenching as Jim pegged him with a hard stare.

"Son," Jim started, his gaze never wavering, and Rick's heart clenched in his chest. "Do you have any idea what today is?"

Rick racked his brain, flipping through a mental filofax of memorable dates. "No, sir."

"It's January ninth."

Rick waited a beat for further explanation that never came. "I'm not sure I follow, sir."

"Exactly. Now, get out. No disrespect intended."

Jim turned his back to him and shuffled on his slipper-clad feet toward the open bedroom door of the small sparse apartment, scotch-laced coffee in hand. The older man disappeared into the dark room and Rick let out a sigh, rubbing one hand through his hair, making it stand on end. All things considered, it could have gone worse.

He debated going after the man once again but instead turned on his heels and strode across the small living room to the front door. His toe caught on something in the entry and he stumbled, foot caught in the strap of a dufflebag. Rick leaned over to unwrap his ankle, but paused as a glint of metal caught his eye from the inside of the unzipped bag.

With a quick look over his shoulder, Rick reached in, pulling out what looked like a .40 caliber Smith and Wesson from its nest of clothes. Straightening up, he let the gun dangle from his right index finger as he turned to look back toward the bedroom. There were only two reasons a man in Jim Beckett's state would need a gun and neither of them were good.

"Mr. Beckett?" Rick called out as he neared the bedroom door.

"I thought I told you to leave." A voice grunted from the dark.

"You did, sir. But I can't do that." Rick replied, standing his ground just outside the doorway.

Jim reappeared and his gaze fell to the gun in Rick's hands as he stepped back into the light.

"You mind telling me why you need this?"

"None of your damn business."

"It is my damn business if you intend to hurt yourself or someone else."

"I don't intend to do anything. I'm about to head out on a hunting trip."

"You'll excuse me if I don't believe you, Mr. Beckett. Last time I checked, you don't use a handgun to hunt. Now, what's the significance of today?"

Jim glowered as he shuffled around Rick to the sofa. He slumped back into the seat, downing the rest of his coffee. "It's the day my wife was stabbed. It's also the day my daughter was shot."

Rick's heart leapt into his throat, and he swallowed hard to force his words out. "The same day?"

"She wouldn't let it go. I begged her to just move on with her life. Let it be, but she couldn't. She was like her mother in that way. Stubborn. Tenacious. She would let it go for a while. Pack it all away, but it would always creep back- one step at a time until the obsession, the addiction would grab hold again, drag her under. In the end it finally took her from me, just like her mother."

"You think it was the same people?" Rick sank down on the couch beside Jim, the gun heavy in his hand.

"Cops never closed the case. Called it 'random gang violence', Kate never accepted that answer. Just before she was shot in a 'random robbery', she told me she was onto something. Something big. Then she was gone.

"Tell me Rick, how many cops do you know would be shot in their own house by a random punk looking to score a couple easy bucks?" Jim's tired eyes met his in question.

"Not many."

"Kate was good. The best, according to some. A survivor. And she was shot, in her bedroom, two feet away from her back up gun, that gun," Jim continued, pointing at the pistol in Rick's hand. "By some random punk? I don't believe it."

"Now," Jim continued, reaching out for the gun. "If you don't mind, I was on my way to my cabin."

"I'm sorry, but I can't give you this back, and I won't leave you here alone until I'm sure you won't do anything."

"Dammit!" The word exploded from Jim's lips as he bolted up from his seat, a sudden fire burning in his eyes. "Why won't you just go?"

"Mr. Beckett," Rick began again, his tone toeing the line of too calm. "I can't even begin to imagine what you're going through. To lose… everyone you love. But through you, through the other detectives at the twelfth, I am beginning to get to know Kate. And I know she wouldn't want to see you like this."

"My daughter isn't coming back."

"No," Rick agreed. "She's not. But you're still here, and so am I, and Detectives Ryan and Esposito."

"So, what? Are you going to call the Wonder Twins and tell on me?"

"No," Rick replied, even as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. "But I'm not leaving you alone."

Jim eyed the badge and gun strapped to his waist. "Don't you need to be at work?"

RIck shrugged, putting a period on the end of his text before hitting send. "Today I need to be here."

* * *

"Hey! Looks like you've had a rough day. Catch another tough case?" Kate greeted him with a smile when he trudged through the door after midnight and guilt gnawed at him like a hungry lion when he nodded in confirmation. "I'd offer to make you a drink," she continued, holding up her hands, fingers wiggling. "But these are pretty much useless right now."

His stomach turned at the idea of scotch but he forced a small smile in her direction, even as his stomach sank at her blissful ignorance. "Thanks, but I think I'll skip the drink tonight. What are you watching?"

"Well, it was Mythbusters this morning, but it's been a How It's Made marathon since noon and I think I might be going a little insane."

"Ah, so you're just happy to see me because I can change the channel."

"You said it, not me."

The banter that had become a normal part of his day over the past couple of weeks came easy, a balm for his aching soul. "Okay fine," he grumbled in jest as he plopped down next to her in his wrinkled half-tucked shirt and jeans. He placed his badge and gun on the coffee table, swapping them out for the remote and settled back, flipping to the guide as he toed off his shoes. "What do you want to watch?"

"Ooh, Temptation Lane." Kate exclaimed pointing at the screen and Rick did a double take at the former detective next to him. He had received no indication, from her from anyone else, that Kate Beckett would be a soap opera fan. Especially one as corny as Temptation Lane.

"Soap opera, really?" He teased, even as he selected the show, and waited on her answering eye roll.

"Yes, really. I like it."

"I never would have guessed. What other dark secrets are you hiding? Oh!" He gasped, turning in his spot to look at her. "You like candy corn don't you? I should have known. No one as gorgeous as you is without faults."

Kate smirked, arms folding over her stomach as she relaxed back into the couch. "Oh, so many layers to the Beckett onion, how will you peel them all?"

"One day at a time, my dear detective."

Silence fell as the drama played out on the screen.

"You know, my mother was on this show for about 3 weeks before her character met an untimely demise." Rick said as a dramatic cliffhanger gave way to commercial.

"Really? My mom and I used to watch it together. It was our thing, especially on sick days."

"Do you miss her? Your mom?"

"Everyday," Kate paused, a sad smile crossing her lips. "You know, it's weird. Part of me expected to see her here. Find her waiting for me, assuming there was an afterlife. Maybe she'll be there when I finally get out of this limbo."

"You don't think she's caught too? Waiting for her case to be solved?"

Kate leaned forward, eyes landing on the closed shutters at the far end of the room. "I don't know," she said, contemplating. "I don't even know if that's why I'm here. But I hope not. I can't stand the thought of her stuck in that alley for eternity."

"Well, my offer stands. We could work on it together. Get closure, peace, for both of you."

Kate turned back to him, but this time her smile was forced. "I can't let you do that, Rick. Too many people have already suffered for my cause, I can't risk adding you to the list."

"Some causes are worth the risk." He answer even as the image of Jim Beckett passed out, sprawled on his bed, played through his mind.

"Not this one. I should have listened, I should have stayed away. It took me dying to realize it. Promise me you'll stay away."

"Okay." Rick replied guilt gnawing at what he already knew was another lie. "I'll stay away."

"Thank you. Now let me watch my show. I love this episode."

* * *

A/N: Apologies for the delay. And, as always, thank you for your patience and kind words.


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